Lie Zombie Lie (I Zombie) Read online

  So, we camp… inside. At least there were four walls and a roof. In the morning I would do another broadcast and then Jacob and I would be on our way.

  To where? I have no idea yet. Hopefully, by morning, I’d know.

  Chapter 2

  November 17, 2016 4:15 AM

  Unknown Location, Pennsylvania, USA

  My friends all sat around me. Jacob was there, and Dr. Godwin. Susan, Michelle, Gunther, Danielle… they all sat around me in a circle. The night air kissed the skin of my naked body. I was pregnant. Baby Jacob was neatly tucked and folded back inside my womb. From behind, I felt hot fire.

  Everyone stared up at me, smiling, holding up their hands as if they were praying or testifying to some strange religious faith I knew none of them actually had. They spoke, but I couldn’t understand the words. The strange tongue was part moaning, part spoken word. It was a beautiful sound, but completely foreign.

  From behind the circle of friends, glowing eyes appeared in the night. At first the eyes seemed like nothing more than distant stars, but the regularity of their position, and the swaying movement gave the haunting orbs away.

  A blackened smoke rose up from behind me. The smell of cooking meat assaulted my nose. The meat was me. I was tied to a pole, over a fire, with my friends circled around me. Their hands were praising some odd god as they held out plates. They waited to be served my flesh. I tried to cry out, but the sound wasn’t me – it was the sound of a baby, my baby. Jacob cried out, from inside my womb, begging for release. I knew the second he came out, either the cannibals around me or the glowing eyes in the night would devour him. I had to hold my baby in as my backside flesh cooked to a crispy well done.

  It was all a nightmare. The sound of crying wasn’t me, it was Jacob. He was hungry. The surrounding darkness served only to confuse me further. When I jerked awake, that haunting sensation of not knowing if I dwelled in reality or some dream-state still fogged my mind. Jacob’s continued crying hatefully jerked me into reality.

  With my eyes half opened, I rummaged in my bag and pulled out a can of formula and a bottle. It would have been so much easier to breast feed the baby, but with the apocalypse came a glorious, constant hunger. I hadn’t been able to feed myself enough to produce sufficient milk for Jacob. So every chance that presented itself, I looted a grocery, or kitchen, for as much formula as I could. I was surprised the shelves hadn’t already been picked clean of the stuff. It never failed – there was a steady supply in every store I flash mobbed.

  As soon as the rubber nipple popped between his toothless gums, Jacob hushed. In a half-asleep trance I fed and rocked the baby. After he sucked down the entire contents of the bottle, he was back off to his own little dream world. God I hope the visions that danced in his little head were nothing like mine.

  To sleep, perchance to dream. Shakespeare had no idea!

  *

  November 17, 2016 9:30 AM

  Unknown location, Pennsylvania USA

  This is Bethany Nitshimi once again broadcasting for Zombie Radio. I survived another attack. They brought it, but not as hard as I. I learned a lesson – going at it alone isn’t easy now. And so, I have to call out to anyone listening. It’s time to band together, form an army, and take back the planet from those that thought it their right to go anal on the first date with mankind. I’m not going to lie to you, I’m packing a child, an infant actually. But I also carry with me what is probably the only hope the human race has of puking up this shit sandwich and making it out alive. So here’s the deal – you know where my web site is; on that site you’ll find a link to contact me. Tell me where you are, who you have with you, and your plan for survival. I’ll read through every email and decide which best suits the needs of the many. When I find you, there will be much to do. I have a cure to create and distribute. I have a collective of ass bags I must find and destroy. And I have a very special child I must protect and raise.

  If you’re curious about who I am and why you should care, go to my site, download a copy of my ex lover’s book, I Zombie I, and read it. Once you finish the Bible of the New World Order, you will understand the importance of my survival.

  Please, contact me. Let me know you’re out there. This is Bethani Nitshimi for Zombie Radio. Out.

  Out is right. Unlike the previous voice of the Zombie Radio Nation, I had no music to play. My broadcasts would be nothing more than succinct call-outs in an attempt to bring some order to the whirling chaos trying desperately to look up our skirts. I wish I had something to entertain the masses, some shtick to stem the tide of hate and hell washing over the land. At the moment there were simply more important tasks than making people laugh, cry, or dance. If I have my way, the world will be saved and there’ll be plenty of time for dancing… after the fire.

  I had Jacob packed up and ready to roll. The reality of the situation was that I had no fucking idea where I was going. There was no poetic wind to fill my sails. All I had was some broken inner compass carrying me on in random directions. Randomness was never a part of my makeup. Up until a year ago, my life was about order in absolutes. Binary. Ones and zeros ruled supreme. But with the apocalypse, anything was possible.

  I had fashioned a make-shift baby sling to carry Jacob. His tiny weight resting on my breasts and belly was an unfamiliar comfort. My arms would be necessary and I wasn’t about to put the little guy on my back – not with moaners and screamers on the loose. The chances of a zombie going stealth and snatching my baby away were slim to zilch; but I wasn’t about to take a single chance. Jacob was far too important. Besides, I’m a nerd. Chance and I don’t play well together. Give me calculation, hard numbers, facts and I’m all sexy, sexy.

  It was bitter cold outside. As soon as the too-early winter wind slashed and smacked the exposed skin of my face, I thought twice about continuing on. The house we just left seemed like a paradise compared to the Polar Icecap-like weather we were experiencing. It wasn’t enough to have to deal with the end of the world, but a record-setting cold front and snowflakes the size of my fist? In what level of Hell is that fair?

  Jacob was bundled up tight against the cold. My only concern for the bundle of joy, was whether or not he could actually breathe underneath his wrappings. I stopped, paranoid that his swaddling was too tight. When I felt a tiny rise and fall of his breathing belly, I knew it was safe to move on.

  The snow served to silence the area. The sight was lovely. There was something about the scene that reminded me of my childhood. Maybe it was snow crunching under foot as I walked with my Grandmother, ready to drop to the ground and make snow angels. Or maybe it was recalling something Jacob had written in his journal about the snow and ash falling, and the zombie he called ‘Flaky’. No matter what it was, something flipped an emotional switch in me and tears threatened to freeze on my cheeks.

  The apocalypse was no time to allow my inner traveling pants girl to slip out. No, it was time to channel my inner tomboy. Or, better yet, my inner kick-ass red neck. Zombies wouldn’t dare fuck with a red neck.

  A laugh spilled out, along with a puff of smoke-like air. God it was cold.

  A roaring sound stopped me – stopped my feet, my breathing, and nearly my heart.

  “Oh fuck,” the whisper accidentally spilled out from between my chattering teeth.

  My brain sent the run signal to my feet, but they succinctly ignored the command.

  “Hide.” I whispered.

  The roar grew louder.

  “Run.” Again, I whispered.

  The roar drew nearer.

  “Fuck!”

  The roar vibrated in my skull.

  Finally, my feet received the order from my brain and took off running. I ran to the nearest shelter, which happened to be a car parked in a drive way. Fate was kind to me and the car was unlocked. I carefully, and quickly, pulled off the sling and slid into the front seat of the car. I sat Jacob down in the passenger seat and quickly searched for keys.

  The roar vibrated the glas
s of the car’s windshield. I so wanted to ask myself whatever was that monster making all the noise. Unfortunately I knew all too well the bearer of those horrific tidings.

  A screamer.

  The undead food chain was simple: Moaners < Screamers < Berzerkers. For those of you less math-ly, that reads: Moaners, are less than Screamers, are less than Berzerkers. Moaners are your made-for-tv zombies: slow and shambling, without plot, plan, or point (other than to consume your gray matter). Screamers are mad bastards, faster and stronger than anything you’d have ever seen (other than maybe Chuck Norris). Berzerkers? You don’t even want to go there; because the second you do, you’re dead. And I’m sure by now there’s some form of big nasty that has evolved beyond that of Berzerker.

  At the moment, the sound crashing the party was all Screamer. One screamer, it seemed. But even that one beast could peel the flesh off my bones and make a pinata with my bladder in less than thirty seconds.

  Not that I’ve actually timed them.

  I locked the doors to the car and hunkered down with Jacob to try and wait out the tornado made of rage and pain. It would pass… it had to pass.

  Another roar threatened to shatter the windshield of the car. The thing was close – too close. One ridiculously ear-splitting scream made it all too clear the thing was just outside of the car. This was it, I was going to die. The car started rocking back and forth. Roarzilla knew I was inside, knew a delicious, tasty treat awaited his black, rotten lips.

  The instant the rear window shattered, I could smell the thing’s corpse-rot breath. Panic decided it wanted a play-date with my heart and mind – a maddening threesome. I grabbed for my pack. Deep inside the pocket was a weapon I didn’t like to use. ‘Boomsticks’ and ‘bangbangs’ were great for taking down zombies quickly, but the noise was sure to bring about an instant, undead block party. I had no choice – I had to use it. I pulled the pistol (aka ‘bangbang’ – don’t ask) out of the pack and unset the safety. The second the fucker peaked his ugly face in the window, his third eye was going to be permanently opened.

  I cocked the hammer, extended my arms and waited. Jacob cried out. The screamer roared and violently rocked the car. Jacob squealed in displeasure again and the beast shattered the passenger-side window. When his raging face shot into the cockpit of the car, the explosion of the gun cracked and promised some serious tinnitus. Somehow, even in the shock of the moment, my aim was dead on. The zombie dropped, its thick, brown blood slowly oozing out of the hole in its forehead.

  When the high-pitched ringing finally subsided, Jacob’s cry took over, reminding me I had just shot a gun within a couple of feet from my baby.

  I was never going to win Mother of the Year.

  As soon as I picked Jacob up and pulled him tightly to my chest, his cries began to wane. He was safe – for the moment. That moment would soon be over. The noise of the gunshot would surely draw the attention of a horde of moaners and screamers. We had to get the hell out of this little suburbian nightmare, and fast.

  With Jacob snuggled back up against my chest, my pack on my back, and my gun in my hand, I went in search of intact transportation. We were in the middle of the stereotypical, American town. Surely someone left the keys to their car on a kitchen counter top.

  And while in the kitchen… maybe a snack or two.

  *

  November 17, 2016 12:15 PM

  Unknown Location, Pennsylvania USA

  It only took looting three houses to find both snacks and car keys. The snacks were packable – packaged junk food that would last forever. I learned early on, in Munich, that junk food was probably going to be the only sustenance to carry the survivors through the apocalypse. And as much as I’d love a good Cob Salad or brazened salmon fillet, Doritos, Fritos, and Munchos were just going to have to suffice.

  A garbage bag served as a fitting carry all for the collected food. I hauled the black plastic sack out to my new best friend – an Audi A4 (nothing fancy like Tony Stark drove – just a standard issue Quattro). With the car loaded, me and my baby pulled out of the streets of suburgatory and into the grand unknown.

  There had to be a fitting song for such an exit. Unfortunately the FM airwaves where bereft of broadcast. What I wouldn’t do to have the original Zombie Radio DJ back, spinning tunes and weaving strange tales of conspiracy with a Captain James T. Kirkian sensibility. Quirk collided with cool and gave birth to that voice. Too bad the zombie a GoGo got the best of him and he went Linda Lovelace on a pistol. Even though I took up the reins of Zombie Radio, I had no quirk to offer the listeners. It was nothing but raw facts mixed in with a touch of vitriol.

  The Audi did have a CD player. The collection of CDs accused the auto’s owner of serious hipsterism. Nothing but singer-songwriter, folk-fusion, and retro-pop. There was no accounting for tastes – even during the end of the world.

  By accident, my finger nudged the band mode button on the stereo and switched the radio to AM. The crackle of old-school broadcast was actually soothing to my ears. Sometimes falling back in time was comforting. I hit the Seek button to see if there was life out there in the airwaves. After a few stops of random noise, the radio landed on a real broadcast.

  You simply can’t assume this was a political ploy. What you can assume is that something has gone terribly wrong and we are on the brink of extinction. But there are rumors drifting around about a small army collecting on the outskirts of town. What they are planning, I have no idea. If I were to guess, I’d say they were nothing more than a pissed off militia hoping to take out what’s left of our government. Honestly, I don’t care why they are together and what they plan on doing – so long as they take out a few of those walking dead bastards along the way.

  We have a caller. You’re talking to Mike on Tiny Radio AM. Let’s hear it.

  Hey Mike! I just wanted to say I love your show. I’ve been listening to you since I was a kid. Me and my dad…

  Yeah thanks for the sentiment there guy, but we’re dealing with the apocalypse. What we need are reports. If you have nothing to help save lives, then spare us all. Next caller.

  Yo Mike! Thanks for taking the call. I just wanted to pose a simple question. It’s been, what, a year since the Mengele Virus hit and we still have power. How is that possible? In the movies they never have power for more than a few days, maybe a week tops. What gives? I’ll hang up and listen to your response.

  That’s a good question. Here’s the thing – so much of America’s power comes from coal – that power wouldn’t survive without people working those systems. Solar, wind, and nuclear power could certainly continue on though. My guess is that either we have some real heroes; men and women in the coal industry, working in the background. Either that, or some genius out there somewhere has managed to tap our main grids into a pipeline of renewable energy. A year is a long time, when most industries have collapsed. In the end, I don’t have an answer for that. But I would love to hear from anyone in the know. If you’re in the coal industry, or someone who knows enough about the power grids keeping us in electricity, shed some light on the subject.

  I was worried the guy had no idea what he was doing. The power of radio could well be the only means which to bring survivors together, or at least educate everyone into some form of self sufficiency. If I knew his phone number, I’d call the station and help him lead the human race out of Hurricane Zombie.

  I continued driving, hoping good ol’ Mike on Tiny Radio AM might get a caller with enough information to clue me into where I needed to go next. I had nothing. Actually, Mike had nothing, outside of a few irrational conspiracies. But it was nice to hear voices. The only companionship I had for the last few days was the cooing and crying of Jacob. As much as I adore and cherish my baby, he’s not much for conversation.

  “Fuck!”

  A moaner decided to play chicken with the Audi and caught me off guard. I slammed into the monster hard enough to snap its head off its shoulders. The body fell under the car and must have caug
ht up on one of the axles or the exhaust. I could hear the meat dragging over the pavement, like a giant slab of raw bacon. I hit a speed bump fast and hard enough to dislodge the beast. A quick look in the rear-view mirror and I saw the thing roll to a stop on the street behind me.

  The RPMs of my heart matched those of the Audi. I was surely going to stroke out any second. But before I could, the sound of a woman shrieking had my attention. I slammed on the brakes. The unfortunate squealing of rubber probably caught the attention of every zombie in the ‘hood.

  I rummaged in my pack, grabbed my pike and gun, and jumped out of the car. I wouldn’t budge from the vicinity – not with Jacob strapped into the passenger seat and the sound of a wailing woman echoing in my ears. My pike was extended and locked, my gun loaded and cocked.

  Much ass was about to be kicked. God I loved power.

  “Help!” The shrill female voice was drawing near. I took a chance and called out.

  “Over here!”

  Either some helpless woman or a hungry plague of zombies was about to ascend on me. Actually the latter was probably most likely, considering one generally beget the other in this golden age of the Scream Queen.

  Just as I expected, a young girl came flying around a corner, followed by – fuck – a screamer. I ran around to the passenger side of the car and flung open the back door.

  “Over here! Jump in!”

  As the girl picked up speed and aimed her body for the car, I ran back to the driver’s side door, hoisted my pistol, and took aim for the beast. I had no idea if I could pick off a target moving as quickly as a screamer. Now was not the time for second guessing. Now was the time for dumping truck loads of confidence powder all over my bad-ass self and pumping lead into the skull of the fast-approaching monster.